


if you wanna be my lover (you gotta get with my friends)

by mindshelter



Series: tell me what you want what you really really want [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, and of course the coveted identity reveal—eventually!, ned: i've only had peter for a day but i would kill for him, peter: h-, wherein peter only befriends ned and mj post-homecoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindshelter/pseuds/mindshelter
Summary: MJ still remembers Ned’s initial disbelief when Peter—infamous for missing class back in sophomore year, suspended for two weeks freshman year—finished his bit of the group write-up four days early. The work was perfect, and so was Ned's chemistry grade. After that it was Peter this, Peter that,Peter parted the Red Sea, it’s true, MJ, I was there; I saw it. MJ, hey, are you listening?Then Ned says, “We should invite Peter to join AcaDec.”or;peter isn’t rock bottom on midtown’s social ladder; he’s underground. friendless, rumoured to get into street fights. ned declares him bestie material anyway, and mj catches feelings.she also meets tony stark(?) infoodtown, of all places, and makes a spider-man(??) sighting.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: tell me what you want what you really really want [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737256
Comments: 158
Kudos: 1630





	if you wanna be my lover (you gotta get with my friends)

**Author's Note:**

> oh hey guess i'm alive—life has just been busy and mediocre. But I Am Here Now
> 
> welcome to unstoppable force (my desire to finish the wips i have) versus immovable object (my desire to write silly romantic tropes for fun)
> 
> like the tags say, this is an au where peter isn't friends with ned when he first becomes spider-man. they only meet properly post-homecoming. i don't know how this got to be nearly 8k words of near-painful teenage Awkward, but here we are. here we are. 
> 
> happy reading!

It starts like this:

Ned, elbows propped onto the cafeteria table, leaning his body towards MJ, textbook definition of serious.

“Hear me out.”

“No.”

Undeterred, Ned’s eyebrows scrunch up, determined. He spreads his hands as if making a ground-breaking sales pitch. “We should invite Peter to join AcaDec.”

Ah, another day of Ned campaigning in Peter Parker’s name like the guy is the best thing since sliced, toasted, buttered bread.

The irony is that he’d spent the first part of the semester whining about how random seating plan generators are powered by evil cosmic forces conspiring against him, going on and on about how he’d have steel himself emotionally, mentally and physically against having Peter Parker as a desk mate for the next few months. A foreseeable future saturated with group work that Ned would have to complete by himself—one of the greatest agonies of anyone in academia. 

Unpredictably, Peter turned out to be a goddamn _awesome_ lab partner. MJ still remembers Ned’s initial disbelief when Peter, infamous for missing class back in sophomore year, finished his part of the write-up four days early. And the work, deep etches of black ink onto clean paper, was perfect. After that it was Peter this, Peter that, Peter parted the Red Sea. 

“What is this ‘we’?” MJ asks. “I’m the club leader here. The executive decisions are mine.”

“And here I thought you hated any form of autocracy,” Ned presses on. Gestures his sandwich at her. “He’s so smart, MJ. Like, not even _smart_ , smart. _Smart,_ _smart_ , smart. I legit don’t think he’s gotten any test back lower than, like, a ninety-five.”

“We go to a magnet school,” MJ points out. “Most of us are smart.”

She knows what Ned is gonna say next. Here it comes: nooo, MJ, Peter is literally God’s gift to humanity.

“Nooo, MJ,” Ned argues. “He’s a gift. A blessing. MJ, he’s going to be my bestie—I’m speaking it into existence now.”

Close enough.

“That’s fine and all, but why do we need to let him into decathlon? Wheel him on your own time.”

Ned sighs—or swoons; he’s been blurring that line lately. “If he _was_ my type, I’d elope with him immediately,” he says. “Our honeymoon would be in California and we’d visit Death Valley and remake all the scenes in Tatooine from episode IV—”

“You’re such a loser.”

“Let me finish. MJ, he’s a _huge_ Star Wars nerd, who would have thought? We’re literally soulmates.” A lightbulb goes off in his head. “Oh! We’ll make a cross-country road trip out of it, see the whole country. Cross through _Wyoming_.”

“Who’s the one driving? You don’t have your license.”

“I’m sure Peter can drive.”

Ned unlocks his phone and types out a quick message before returning his attention to MJ.

“For some reason I doubt that,” MJ says, “and stay on topic. I’m going to need a really, _really_ good reason why I should let a known flake into an attendance-mandatory activity.”

Ned straightens a bit, adopting a pensive look on his face.

“We got to talking,” he starts, “and he told me he’s really trying to be better. Do his homework, get good grades. Him and his aunt had a whole fight about him sneaking out and ditching school or whatever last year, and she put her foot down. He even told me he’s doing some internship with Stark Industries, which, like, coolest shit _ever_.” Then he frowns, strangely downcast. He whispers the next bit conspiratorially, like a big secret. “I think he’s lonely, too.”

Lonely is a buzzword in MJ’s personal vocabulary; she’d spent years friendless and pissed about it. AcaDec had done away with that, and now she has at least baseline acquaintanceship with the most of her team. She and Yasmin text semi-regularly, and she has her coffee-library dates with Ned.

Ned, who is definitely trying to tug at her heartstrings, because apparently opening up to people makes them realize you’re not 90% permafrost.

 _Fine_.

“I’ll run the idea by Mr. Harrington,” she concedes, making sure to narrow her eyes to preserve the impression that she’s doing Ned a massive favour. The boy brightens immediately and whoops as she adds, “but what makes you think he’ll want to join?”

Ned shrugs. “He likes chem and physics _a lot_ ,” he says. “Also, I’m going to tell him Flash is the current starter for those categories.”

Peter’s mostly an enigma, but it’s no secret that the guy cannot stand Flash. Of all the things people whisper about him in the halls, that’s one MJ _knows_ is completely justified.

“You’re banking on him being petty?”

A vigorous nod. “Hell _yeah_ I am.” He claps his hands together, and spreads them in a grand motion. “Something for everybody.”

She sighs. “Whatever,” she says.

Ned phone buzzes. He scrambles to unlock it, and whatever is on the screen makes him gasp and clutch at his chest.

“What?”

“Oh my God,” Ned says, still mortally wounded, sliding the phone over. “My dream honeymoon.”

MJ skims the conversation and scoffs.

**Ned >> Peter**

[11:40] heyy random question but can you drive

**Peter**

[11:45] …no why

____

MJ stays true to her word and talks to Mr. Harrington about letting Peter attend one of their practices. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Harrington agrees to it; he’ll take anyone who’s willing, at this point. AcaDec’s been short a few members after Liz left, since at least a quarter of sign-ups into the club had been from underclassmen with massive crushes on her.

MJ had admittedly fallen under that denomination—because, _hello_ , it’s _Liz_ —but she turned out to be pretty good at it.

Less unsurprisingly, Peter shows up to room 207 the next Wednesday afternoon, hands tucked under his thighs, hoodie up. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, but he glances briefly at MJ and offers her a small, tentative smile. The only time he perks up is when he spots Ned entering; the other boy takes a seat to Peter’s left, and no one sits in the seat to Peter’s right.

A fading, yellow bruise stretches along the left side of his jaw.

Mr. Harrington gives Peter a brief explanation on how practices and competitions usually go, and then MJ breaks out the flashcards.

There are a few things that this year’s juniors know about Peter Parker.

The first is that he’s only been enrolled in Midtown since freshman year, having completed middle school elsewhere in Queens. 

The second is that he’s involved in Shady Business, capitalized—or at least that’s the explanation the general school population accepts for the blemishes and discolorations that mottle Peter’s face and collar. Guy really needs to learn how to dodge. Or get into less fights.

No one really knows, and no one pries, especially after Flash failed to shut up the few days after news got around that Peter’s uncle was murdered. Peter had ignored Flash’s taunting up until the point he’d insinuated that Peter was clearly up to some sketchy shit, gotten involved with the wrong people, and that his uncle had paid the price.

MJ still remembers the slam, the ear-piercing howl—cold, gut-dropping—that rang across the hallway when Peter hoisted Flash up by his expensive coat like he weighed nothing. Then, a slam against metal lockers.

It was too forceful, and Peter immediately knew it; he dropped the other boy onto the floor, horrified, successive _I’m so sorry, so sorry, I’m so sorry_ s spilling out before Flash had even crumpled to the ground.

By the end of the day, a play-by-play of what had happened was on social media.

Flash got away with bruises along his shoulders and detention. No concussion—and that was really the stroke of luck that had saved Peter from expulsion. That, and an apparent lack of any previous record. Instead, he was suspended for two weeks and, by school policy, was also required to undergo counselling.

Because kids are cruel, rumours began to spin out of control, mesh with reality until they were one in the same; Peter lost his temper because there was some grain of truth to Flash’s accusations.

It was an avalanche; an unforgiving trial by fire and public opinion. People kept their distance.

Third on the admittedly dismal profile Midtown has on Peter, and the final nail on the coffin that lowered Peter to full pariah status, is that he ditched Liz at homecoming.

(That’s really the only one that MJ is bitter about. But if Ned thinks Peter is a better person now, then she’ll give him a chance.)

A new fact that’s becoming more glaringly apparent by the second is that Peter is really, really good at academic decathlon.

_Ding!_

“Equilibrium favours the reactants.”

“Correct.”

_Ding!_

“The function is differentiable if a equals zero and b equals two over seven.”

“Correct.”

_Ding!_

“Phenol.”

“Correct.”

_Ding!_

“Sine theta.” 

At the end of the session Ned’s face is a mixture of elated and smug. Mr. Harrington, bless him, is dazzled.

Cindy even throws Peter a bone. “Okay, yeah. Peter should totally be on the team,” she says. “Dude, are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

Peter turns pink. “Thank you. And, uh, no,” he says. They’re the first words he’s said beside the answers he’s given during practice. “And—um. That’s up to Michelle and Mr. Harrington, I guess.”

MJ shrugs, just as Mr. Harrington claps Peter on the back. “Oh, absolutely, Peter! We’d love to have you.” He looks to the crowd of teenagers gathered around him. “Yes?”

Everyone except Flash murmurs their assent.

____

Peter always bolts the second each practice is over, with the excuse that he “can’t keep his ride waiting”—or whatever that means, but he’s physically present at every meeting, and that’s all MJ really cares for.

More frequently than not, Flash mumbles comments under his breath. They’re too faint for MJ to hear, but Peter occasionally interrupts what he’s doing to blow out an annoyed huff. 

Midway into an integral, Flash mutters something again, Peter lets the grip on his pencil grow slack, and it clatters onto his desk. A shrill screech as Peter pushes out his chair.

Then, silence.

Somehow, that’s all it takes for Peter Parker to take command of a crowd; the temperature of the room drops a few degrees.

No one moves, save MJ, who props her chin against the ball of her palm, watching the scene with mild interest. She runs a nail down the weathered edge of one of her flashcards.

Peter twists to face Flash, glaring. The boy squirms in his seat with something like fear.

And then Peter deflates.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, soft. “You were way out of line that day, but I should have been more careful, too—sometimes I don’t know my own strength. That’s—that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry I ended up hurting you.” He turns back around, picks up his pencil again. Scribbles another line down and slams the bell. The _ding_ sound is muffled. “The area is two times cotangent three.”

Mr. Harrington shakes himself out of his stupor. “Er, correct.”

That settles that.

Ever a man with a plan, Ned proceeds to the next phase in his grand pursuit of friendship. This roughly translates to inviting Peter over to his and MJ’s usual spot in the canteen, six tables away from the serving stalls.

Most of the time, MJ carries on as she usually does, nose buried in a novel or last-minute cramming for a unit exam scheduled later in the day, but sometimes she catches snatches of conversation between the two teenage boys chit-chatting across from her.

Peter always eats enough for two. He’s probably speaking more in a single lunch period than he has in the past two years; in the right environment, Peter is a chatterbox, matching Ned’s energy so cohesively it seems like they’ve been friends for years, rather than weeks.

In another universe, maybe they are.

When Peter actually smiles—and he does it more and more often, now—it’s with his whole face, his entire body. It’s toothy, making his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle.

By passive diffusion, she gathers that Peter lives with his aunt, May Parker, that he takes the R line to school every morning, like she does, and he shares Ned’s love for LEGOs.

He still has a ton of random injuries that heal suspiciously fast. Sometimes Ned tries to convince Peter to hang out after school, but Peter insists that he has some “Stark Internship” going on.

One day, Ned gets sick, texting MJ around second period that he’ll be MIA.

At lunch, she spots Peter hovering around where the three of them usually sit, several meters away, body partially obscured by a pillar, two sandwiches clutched in his hands. It’s so conspicuous that it’s kind of endearing.

She waves him over. Watches Peter make his awkward shuffle, all penguin, no grace, towards his usual seat.

“Hi,” MJ greets.

Peter jolts. “Hey.” Then, “Do you mind if you sit here?”

“You sit here every day.”

“Yeah, but it’s always with Ned.” He squeezes gently the parchment wrapping of his food. The paper crinkles under the pads of his fingers. “I can go somewhere else.”

“What? Like you’re gonna eat alone on the stairs again?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Fuck’s sake, she was _kidding_.

“Peter,” she says, wondering how much of this is because Peter’s self-esteem is still a slipshod work-in-progress or if she just comes off as a cold person. “Chill. I’m not gonna bite your head off; sit down.”

“Oh, okay.” While he maneuvers himself out of his backpack, MJ tries to figure out what to say. “Thanks, Michelle.”

“My friends call me MJ.”

His head snaps up. Peter stares dead ahead at her face like she’d grown a second head, but eventually he relaxes. “Sure.”

They don’t hold any conversation—MJ’s not fond of small talk, but they’re sharing this space together and it’s nearly comfortable. Peter watches something on his laptop while MJ continues to read, and they say goodbye to one another before fourth period starts.

____

MJ brings the incident up with Ned.

He just laughs. “Oh, yeah,” he tells her, “he was totally scared of you up until now.”

“I kind of like that I’m vaguely terrifying.”

“Of course you do.”

It’s kind of hilarious. Peter’s the one with a Reputation—outside of Ned, Peter’s still pretty quiet. The fact that Peter is inexplicably built and perpetually beat up is no help.

She’ll begrudgingly admit that she sees where Ned is coming from, now, though. Peter’s skittish, avoids a lot of questions related to what he even does outside of school, but he’s as wholesome as Ned had built him up to be at the start of the semester. Getting a spot in AcaDec must’ve been some socialization booster shot, because Peter also starts volunteering at the tech booth for talent shows and the school play.

Parts of his personality other than awkward and a-little-a-lot lacking in self-confidence start to shine through, too.

MJ prides herself on being observant, but so is Peter, it seems. He catches on that she really likes peach sours—and every once in a while, fishes out a bag of them from his backpack and slides them over, no preamble whatsoever.

The AcaDec team actually quite likes Peter. People just tend to be afraid of unfamiliar things.

As it turns out, Peter’s not actually an _asshole_ ; his brand of assholery is the variety most people have: situationally appropriate and harmless. The team bends and folds to make room for their new and very useful member, and Peter gets added to the club groupchat. While he’s mostly unresponsive, every once in a while, he’ll thumbs-down react one of Flash’s texts, seemingly at random, and _nothing_ else. Abe thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world.

____

Over a month into this new, weird-ass dynamic, Peter shows up to the cafeteria in something other than dark-wash denim and a plain hoodie or t-shirt. Instead, it’s a graphic tee with crimson print over white cotton, so well-worn that it’s fraying at the edges.

“Did you forget to do the laundry, or something?” MJ asks, tilting her chin up to gesture at Peter’s choice of clothes.

Peter stops mid-chew and looks down at his shirt, fingers brushing at where it says _THE MATHEMATICS OF PIZZA_. “Oh,” he says, “I actually have a ton of these.”

That’s an unexpected answer. “I’ve never seen you wear one ‘til today.”

“Yeah—I,” he mutters, “I guess I stopped wearing them because —uh.” He punctuates that with a helpless jerk of his shoulders.

Ned signals for Peter to continue, looking up from his laptop. “Yeah?”

“They kind of remind me of my uncle?”

Ah, yeah. The dead one.

MJ blinks a few times, swallowing the bite of bread and ham in her mouth.

“He always used to get me shirts with science jokes on them. On my birthday, and every Christmas. My closet is actually, like, 70% graphic tee.” Peter’s fidgeting, touching the printed pepperoni pizza on his chest. The formula for area by the crust, pi-radius-squared. “I tried a few of them on yesterday and wearing them doesn’t bother me like it used to, I think.”

Neither Ned nor MJ say anything for a few moments, and Peter looks more and more embarrassed by the second. “Is it cool that I said that?” he blurts out. “Sorry, that was totally oversharing.”

“That’s really great, dude,” Ned says, slinging his arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Friends share, it’s cool.”

“Yeah,” MJ says, a little stilted. She kind of feels bad for finding the shirt silly, now, even though its goofiness is it’s intended purpose. “You better dazzle us with your extensive catalogue of dork shirts from now on.”

Peter stares at her briefly, with large, bottomless eyes. Then they close — and MJ thinks that this is the first time she’s _made_ Peter smile — and he beams, upper teeth on full display. It’s hard not to fixate on how it feels like a prize.

Something shifts.

It’s like an ocean retreating from shore during the witching hour, waves pulling back to reveal tidal pools that glimmer with reflected starshine. The creatures of the intertidal zone swim in their baby puddles of water, surrounded by barnacle and mollusk-studded rocks. Crabs crawl out from where they’d taken refuge in dense sand, chirping, clicking their tiny pearly claws and echoing the sentiment that now plagues MJ’s mind: Shit.

____

In terms of social skill, Ned is the best out of the three of them by several gradations—though MJ supposes that’s not an incredibly challenging feat, given the general nature of their cohort. Completely unlike MJ, who overthinks about a third of the sentences that come out of her mouth—but always only _after_ the fact—because she’s historically come off as rude and antagonistic. Being truthful is important to her, but being _blunt_ had made many of her formative years isolating.

Point being—MJ likes Ned. Ned’s genuine. He has a way of making people feel welcome and heard; it’s dark fucking magic, really. His emotions are always written all over his face, so if he’s interested in something—or someone—they’ll know it. She thinks that’s why Peter’s latched onto Ned so easily, so quickly, despite two friendless years. Peter’s nervous energy isn’t repressed; it’s being moulded into something more robust. It’s found a complement.

So it’s only natural that Ned catches onto MJ’s predicament almost as soon as it starts.

“Do you like him?” is what Ned leads with the next time they see each other, cornering MJ at her locker before biology. Dude doesn’t mince words.

“No.”

Ned stares. And stares.

MJ read somewhere that her guts have a mind of their own—and right now, she has empirical evidence, because it feels like worms are squirming and swimming in the cavity of her torso. Her lips twist into a frown. “Why,” she grouses, “are you asking me if you already know the answer?”

It’s just a crush. She’s a teenager, being dragged by the ankle by her hormonal imbalances—this is par for the course. It’s not that deep. She’d been infatuated with Liz for months, and then she’d gotten over it. No muss, no fuss. This is the same case, with a different person.

“That’s a yes.” Ned looks excited. “Right?” He does a mini dance on the spot that consists of him tapping his feet against the tile in quick succession, hands in fists in front of his chest. “That’s a yes, that’s a yes, holy moly—”

“Stop—”

“— _guacamole_.”

MJ walks away.

“I’ve done it!” Ned shouts, victorious. “You’ve been converted!”

____

Peter wasn’t kidding when he said he had a lot of shirts.

His personal favourite seems to be _If you believe in telekinesis please raise my hand_ , with his NASA tee at a close second. _If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate_ appears more rarely, but MJ thinks it deserves an honorary mention.

Some days she can’t tell which shirt he’s wearing, especially as the days get colder and Peter starts to layer up. It’s a little disappointing.

____ 

At some point, Peter and Ned acquire their own very elaborate handshake. Clasped hands, fist bump, elbows together, finger guns.

Oh, things are getting serious.

Peter even caves, finally agreeing to spend time with Ned outside of school. MJ finds herself genuinely excited for the both of them; it’s the thrilling conclusion to a friendship origin story.

For a while, things seem to go swimmingly. Ned meets the elusive aunt May, insists that MJ totally has to meet her too because she is, reportedly, the loveliest woman alive. MJ doesn’t go just because they usually hang out on Thursday evenings and it clashes with her work schedule.

Then, on a Friday like any other Friday, something is off.

Peter and Ned are both sitting across from MJ, but neither of them have said a single thing since they’ve arrived to the dining hall. All jumpy. Ned is staring blankly at his meal, chewing painfully slow, while Peter just looks stressed as fuck. Ironically, his shirt today says _Think like a proton! Always positive!_

“Are you two okay?”

She’s met with rapid-fire blubbering.

“Oh, yeah, we’re fine.”

“Never been more fine.”

“The most fine.”

“Fine,” they chant, in unison.

… okay.

“Alright,” MJ mutters, slowly. She gives them both a final squinty-eyed look before returning her attention to a worksheet—it’s due next period, so she’ll have to delegate her curiosity for later. She still has some leftover peach gummies from the bunch Peter had given her last week, and she gnaws idly on them after she’s finished her wrap.

Barely audible, over the hundreds of different conversations and voices bouncing along the walls and ceilings of Midtown’s cafeteria, MJ thinks she hears Ned, shuffling closer to Peter’s ear, whisper-shout, “Do you lay eggs?”

“Ned, please shut _up_.”

____

It gets weirder.

In the blink of an eye, it’s early December and the whole city is drowning in holiday regalia. Rockefeller Center, as it does every year, looks like Saint Nick and his elves all caught the stomach flu and took it out on downtown Manhattan. The area is adorned with towering conifers, a kaleidoscope of string lights, and the ground is paved with smooth white ice.

Likewise, Midtown’s walls are littered with Christmas trees and Santas, dreidels and menorah. Every other day, there’s a bake sale or fundraiser happening in the hallways. Teachers are backloading their students with schoolwork ahead of the break. Dress rehearsal for _The Nutcracker_ is rapidly approaching, so Peter and Ned are helping out the performing arts kids with their mics and teaching them some tech booth basics. Her and her older brother are making tentative plans to visit some of the Christmas markets. It’ll probably be fun.

One evening, MJ gets a message from her brother to stop by the grocery store on the way home with the promise to e-transfer her the funds back later.

The sun has retired for the night by the time MJ is throwing produce into her cart. On the way to the checkout counters, someone says, “I’m still in awe that you managed to rope me into this. You only dragged me here so you wouldn’t have to pay for anything, didn’t you?”

MJ slows her pace to find the source of the voice, and freezes. 

“I’m sure you can handle it, moneybags,” Peter—yes, that’s actually Peter Parker, spotted in the wild jungle of a Queens supermarket, under the achingly bright fluorescent lights—quips, back turned towards a shelf loaded with flour. After a moment of deliberation, he grabs a bag of all-purpose, chittering all the while.

“Wow, no denial at all—that stings.”

MJ pretends to be very interested in the tinfoil in front of her.

“I’ll make you some cookies in exchange for hurting your ego,” Peter says.

“Cute way to say you’ll be giving me the duds.” Stark sniffs primly, twirling a rolled-up shopping list around his fingers. 

“Mr. _Stark_ ,” Peter whines. “Let me li—oh shit.”

Peter is gaping in MJ’s direction, where she’s standing stock-still, mitten-clad hand clasped around the handle of her rolling basket.

This piques Stark’s attention, too, and he glances over at her, then back at Peter, then back at her.

“UH,” Peter shouts, and Stark honest-to-God snorts. “Hi, Michelle—uh, MJ.”

MJ does her best to school her expression into something neutral. Unbothered. No matter what, at least she’s nowhere near the deer-in-headlights grimace that Peter is currently wearing. “Hi.”

“ _Whatareyoudoinghere_.”

MJ waves in the direction of her basket.

“Right. Right. I’m also doing that.”

“He is,” Stark supplies helpfully.

“Internship stuff. Very important.”

“Yuh-huh,” Stark says. He looks delighted.

“Sure looks like it,” MJ says, and internally she congratulates herself because that almost sounded like regular speech.

“We’re going to go now,” Peter hisses, tugging at Stark’s suit jacket sleeve. “Nice seeing you.”

“You too.”

Stark doesn’t budge, despite Peter’s persistent yanking.

“Mr. Stark, we’re going, we’re going,” Peter hisses, but it’s so petulant that it’s more like a whine than anything else. “Mush.”

“ _Peter_ , I am not a _freight animal_ —”

“Yip- _yip_ , Mr. Stark.”

Peter and Stark disappear to another corner of the store—but not before Stark pokes his head back at the end of the baking supplies aisle and gives her a two-fingered salute. MJ is left faintly dumbfounded.

____

Neither her nor Peter mention the encounter, but that same week, Peter unceremoniously drops a bag of treats right next to her laptop keyboard, gesturing at them with a flourish. Ned is already unwrapping his—snickerdoodles and fruity mini-candy canes.

Hers seems to be customized, too. It’s an alternating stack of oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip, held together by saran wrap.

Needlessly, he pats the cookies, points at MJ. “These—you.”

Eloquent. “Me,” she says.

Peter’s all twitchy. He is a slug, MJ is salt. “Happy early holidays, MJ.”

“Thanks,” she says, bringing the sweets closer to her and poking at the wrapping, eyebrows scrunched up all the while.

“Why—” Peter tries, before pursing his lips together. “Why do you look mad. Please, MJ.” He juts out his lower lip, crossing his arms to feign offense. “I’ve been baking for days. Ages. I think and dream in butter and sugar.”

She’s not mad.

Peter is just a very, very overall decent person and it’s sort of getting to her. Like, not the bare minimum has manners, is tolerable to be around kind of decent—the type of decent that tastes like peach candies, stuck and sugary in her molars. It’s more like he emanates nice. He just needed a few metaphorical smacks and kicks, like a broken radiator that needs to be jostled a handful of times before it can warm up a room.

“I didn’t get you anything,” MJ finally says, more weakly than intended.

“Oh, that’s okay. I wanted to get you guys something. I’m, uh, really happy that I met you guys this semester?” He plays with the fancy watch around his left wrist, flicking at the buckle of the strap.

“Hard same,” Ned mutters, hand over his mouth to conceal his chewing. “I wish we’d met sooner, dude.”

The tips of Peter’s ears grow scarlet, but he dips his head in assent.

____

That night, MJ thinks and dreams in butter and sugar.

* * *

MJ adores fiction—adores the way it can be a vehicle to address topical issues, the way it can do anything from painting broad strokes to the finest minutiae and present it to an audience in a way that’s accessible, digestible, and poignant.

Writing is magic. Books are teachers.

Not just for abstract concepts, but even for more technical things like syntactical rules. Pacing. 

Case in point, the sentence she’d spent the past ten minutes crafting. She’s pretty proud of it.

**Michelle >> Peter**

[12:03] hey merry christmas

Oh, yeah. It’s all coming together.

MJ might even call herself a wordsmith.

The lowercase and the ‘hey’—both very casual. Nonchalant. Wishing someone a merry Christmas is nothing out of the ordinary, so it’s not strange to start a conversation thread like this—it’s impersonal, perfunctory, even, but polite. At the same time, it implies that the sender has friendly enough feelings towards the receiving party to even bother texting. The best of both worlds, all packed, locked and loaded into three words.

The reply comes within the next ten minutes. It reads, _thanks, you too!! :)_

MJ reaps the benefits of her labour even further when Peter texts her first during new year’s.

____

“Remember to read up to the end of act two for next week—there will be a summary quiz on Monday during the first twenty minutes of class. Answer the discussion questions as well—we will be going over them together, but I’ll be checking for completion!”

MJ exhales through her nose, while Peter’s head hits his desk with a light thunk. Because he’s a drama queen, he groans.

A new semester means that Peter and Ned are no longer lab partners. Tragically, Ned’s not even registered in any term 2 chemistry course, so Peter’s been left high and dry. The silver lining is that they now have math together.

And MJ shares English class with Peter. Privately, she’s excited about it—Peter is still much closer to Ned than her. This is a low-risk opportunity.

As they’re packing up, MJ sliding her busted-up copy of the play into her bag, followed by her binder and pencil case, she feels Peter’s gaze on her back.

He’s looking up at her, still in his chair, twiddling his pen in his hands. He meets her questioning look—brown staring into brown—when she raises a brow at him.

The pen twists and spins in his fingers. “I was wondering—uh, do you want to work on English later? Like, tonight?”

“Don’t you have your internship on Fridays?” Whatever the internship was. Peter’s certainly on friendlier terms with Tony Stark than just an employer-employee relationship.

“The dates are flexible. Unless you’re busy—”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I can just text you if I get stu—wait, yes?”

“Yeah, sure.”

____

The Parker residence is closest to Midtown, while MJ lives another two stations down, so they agree to head over to Peter’s place and study there. MJ watches Peter send his aunt a heads-up, and after sixth period, they meet up at the school’s front foyer to begin their trek.

It’s a quiet trip, filled only with the noises of peripheral conversations of other commuters and the hum of heavy machinery. MJ huffs against her own hands to warm them up; the heaters of the train are old and poorly maintained. Peter busies himself with something on his phone, head down, until he begins to doze off.

Peter and May’s home is a two-bedroom apartment, filled with every category of IKEA furniture fathomable: a slate-gray sofa bed in the living room facing a TV shelf-bookcase hybrid. The dining set next is made of warm wood, with a chair on all four sides, and the kitchen is cluttered—there’s an ancient-looking coffeemaker, a newer-looking blender, and a basket full of bananas and apples. There’s a fern by the window in a Turtwig planter.

And there’s May Parker, dressed in crisp blue scrubs that she covers up with a thicker jacket. Her hair, up in a bun, is a toastier brown than her nephew’s, gaining a reddish tint under the bright ceiling lights.

Quickly, it becomes obvious where Peter gets all the nice from. She gives MJ a warm greeting, shakes her hand, and exclaims how great it is to finally meet her.

Then she moves on to fuss over Peter, messing up his hair. “I’ll be back at one.”

“Yup; be safe.”

May places two twenties onto the kitchen island. “Money for dinner if you’re ordering in—make sure to leave a good tip.”

“Got it,” Peter says. “Thanks.”

She does her zipper up and swipes her keys from the bowl of knickknacks near the doorway. “And make sure to walk Michelle to the train station later!”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I know, May, I’m not an _animal_.”

May offers Peter a peculiar look as she says, “Could’ve fooled me.” It sounds like an inside joke; Peter smothers a snort while May pushes open the door leading out to the common hallway and to the elevators. “Have a nice evening, MJ!”

MJ waves as Peter calls out, “Larb you, May!”

“Larb you back!”

Peter locks the doors and turns back to MJ. He points a thumb in the direction of the entryway to the apartment. “That was May.”

“She’s really nice,” MJ says. “You look a lot like her.”

“Yeah, lots of people say that. We’re not even blood-related, though.” He looks happy with the comparison anyway.

MJ makes herself comfortable, sitting cross-legged at the living room coffee table, watching with mild interest as Peter makes a short stop into this room to get his laptop charger. Through the wide crack of his bedroom door, she sees him hastily throw a mass of red-blue fabric laid on the floor, back into his closet. A onesie?

Eventually, the discussion questions are finished, and they decide to reward themselves with pizza. MJ comes out victorious in the verbal scuffle they have over her paying for half of the meal, ignoring Peter’s continuous protests that he has the appetite of a horse or “any large creature of her choice” and will probably end up eating most of the food anyway.

This is an _excellent_ Friday.

Once the pizza arrives—plus the breadsticks and marinara side MJ really likes—they relocate to the dining table. True to his word, Peter is on slice three and breadstick two while MJ is still working on her first piece.

“Damn,” is all she can say.

He shrugs helplessly. “I… get pretty hungry. I work out?”

“A lot?”

He considers the question for a moment, looking up. “Like, four to five times a week?”

 _Ha-ha, cool. Hah._ “Cool. That’s cool.”

They talk for a while about the new semester, and what’s in store for AcaDec. The last few competitions have gone extremely well. In particular, MJ’s head is a bit big from her own performance—her response times for math and economics are way up. She’d broken the tie for first place back during last semester’s final in Providence. Yasmin and Betty nearly hugged her to death after the fact.

Since it’s not a school night, MJ decides to stay at the apartment a while longer, moving back into the living room area after they’ve cleaned up the dishes that pizza for two generates.

While powering up the television monitor, Peter hums absentmindedly. “Netflix has so many shows; I can never decide what to watch—”

“ _Memories of Murder_ is good.”

“Oh, okay.”

____

MJ spends the ten-minute walk to the train station trying to figure out how she might be able to negotiate a way into giving Peter a hug before he sees her off. She glances over to him, the shadows cast along the bones of his nose and brow waxing and waning against the shine of streetlights. He has nice shoulders, a broad back. She could fold her arms around him, press her nose against his neck. Her ribcage, closed inside his arms. Mingling heartbeats, going pitter-patter, pitter-patter like gentle rainfall.

A seemingly minor, but purposeful change in angle, his breath, visible through the winter chill, brushing and fading against MJ’s cold-numbed face as he mirrors her and leans in—

Or at the very least, she’ll give him a light bump on the arm.

In any case, she chickens out of both, and they wish each other a good weekend as she heads over to the platform. 

____

They text more, after that.

**Peter >> Michelle**

[15:50] [picture]

[15:51] cat :)

[15:51] his name’s murph :D

**Michelle**

[16:37] cute

____

In the middle of English, MJ’s phone lights up with a text message notification. It’s a work period—which just means Ms. Davis is too tired to teach and students are on their phones. Peter’s soul seems to have straight up left his body; his cheek is pressed against the windowsill, half micro-sleeping and half transforming into amorphous blob, higher mental functions barricaded by puffy layers of fleece and cotton.

**Ned >> Michelle**

[10:37] Top 10 Spider-man FAILS COMPILATION! [VERY FUNNY]

For lack of anything better to do, she clicks.

She’s on #6 (Spider-man misfires a web and goes sploot against a brick wall) when Peter, pushing himself up into a better sitting position, groggily leans over to check out what’s playing on the screen.

“Why are you watching that,” he deadpans. Then, a yawn.

“Ned sent it.”

Peter exhales harshly through his nostrils, turning back around to press his forehead against the glass of the window. “Traitor,” he slurs. He goes limp again. “G’night.”

____

**Michelle**

[21:47] so why /did/ you ditch class so often

**Peter**

[21:47] ok don’t laugh at me but i was fully convinced i was too good for high school

**Michelle**

[21:48] haha

**Peter**

[21:48] :(

[21:49] it was just really boring?? there wasn’t anything i couldn’t figure out just by reading the textbook instead of going to class

**Michelle**

[21:52] so you ditched and got like 1000000 detentions instead and ended up sitting at school for hours doing nothing anyway

**Peter**

[21:53] asdfghj :(((

[21:55] also i got 2 know mr stark around then and he has way cooler equipment than midtown

**Michelle**

[21:56] just casually namedrops tony stark

[21:56] there’s a story there

**Peter**

[21:59] lol you get used to him

[22:00] idk i just met him through my internship and now we hang out sometimes

**Michelle**

[22:02] well that clears up so much

[22:03] what do you even do that even led you to 1-on-1s with stark anyway

**Peter**

[22:25] oh i’m big into chem so i have projects related to spider-man and stuff

[22:26] like with the webbing

**Michelle**

[22:32] so spider-man is stark sponsored

**Peter**

[22:33] haha yeah lol :)

[22:34] tired: state sponsored

[22:34] wired: stark sponsored

**Michelle**

[22:35] is that why you looked so disgruntled when ned sent me that spider-man video

**Peter**

[22:37] he’s a nice guy tbh !!

[22:38] i work hard on that web fluid

____

Midtown is an academic school, so the population distribution here is a fairly skewed—a hefty portion of kids with tiger parents, kids who are never awake past ten-thirty and have never seen a drop of alcohol in their lives, much less tasted it.

Socially, Peter might have thrived more in a quote-on-quote normal school. Maybe, maybe not. At least there’d be less people _still_ visibly afraid of him. The more time MJ spends with him, the more hilariously sad she finds it.

He looks like a goddamn doe. Or a bug, with big bug eyes to match his bug face.

There’s nothing clandestine about her feelings for Peter Parker—it’s just that nothing comes about from it; Peter is still Peter, sharp, prone to spacing out, and MJ isn’t _strongly_ compelled to take what they have anywhere else. He’s not exactly going anywhere.

It’s okay, where they stand now; it’s a cozy nook they’ve carved out of regular chats through text message, team dinners after competitions.

On the way to face against a decathlon team from Brooklyn, MJ goes on a tangent about Lizzie Lloyd King.

“She shot him three times in the basement of his home and then dragged his body over to the fire grate so she could clean up the blood.”

“Wow,” is all Peter says back.

“Uh, yeah, they found and arrested her three months later.” A beat. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. That’s neat.”

It’s something she can privately cherish and allow to seep through the seams when she sketches him and Ned as they heatedly discuss Beast Slayers. It’s still an effusive, fledgling thing. She wants to keep it safe and all hers for a while longer. 

____

**Michelle >> Peter**

[10:20] tf r u

[10:21] there’s a worksheet due end of period

**Peter**

[10:30] FUCK WORD

**Michelle**

[10:32] …ok

**Peter**

[10:33] i just woke up !!!!

**Michelle**

[10:40] lol

**Peter**

[10:42] school’s for scrubs !!!!!!! you’re a scrub !!

**Michelle**

[10:50] can’t hear you over the sound of not having detention

____

**Peter >> Michelle **

[16:17] So, you got detention. You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you going to make things right? Maybe you were trying to be cool. Take it from a guy who’s been frozen for 65 years. The only way to really be cool is to follow the rules. We all know what’s right. We all know what's wrong. Next time those turkeys try to convince you to something that you know is wrong, just think to yourself, “What would Captain America do?”

**Michelle**

[16:30] texting under your desk

[16:31] what a rebel

[16:31] that’ll show em

[16:32] no wonder you have a bad boy rep

**Peter**

[16:33] wgat

____

**Peter >> Michelle **

[17:20] are the captain america psas propaganda ??

**Michelle**

[17:25] yes

____

Michelle Jones, MJ for short and local victim of capitalism, works at 7/11 three nights a week. The manager is pretty nice about her school schedule. Like a lot of things, MJ finds silver linings to last through each shift—she’s always been a night owl, and since it’s late, MJ spends most of her time by the cashbox doing her own thing—sketching in her journal, buying herself a pack of crackers to snack on, or getting some schoolwork done. The number of customers coming in drops exponentially further into MJ’s shift, save for the occasional drunk dude that purchases hot dogs that may or may not pass food safety regulations or teenagers with slushy cravings.

And, of course, Spider-man, who, in a loose definition of the term, pays MJ’s humble 7/11 a visit one uneventful night. 

MJ is zoning out by the lottery ticket machine when she hears shouts outside.

She shakes of some residual drowsiness and slides closer to the window, on her knees to stay out of sight.

There’s a blur of red, occasionally visible thanks to the sparse lighting provided by street lamps, swiftly binding a few figures with webbing.

Three figures are fighting Spider-man: two stay down, pinned to the sidewalk, but the third, shielded his companions, manages to slip out of the attack and whips out a gun, shooting behind him a few times before making a mad dash for the entrance of the store.

 _Oh shit_ , MJ thinks.

Her eyes flicker to the mop bucket just an arm’s length away from where she’s kneeling a few feet by the door. Luckily, the guy is so incensed that he’s staring straight ahead, too busy to notice her.

MJ extends one of her legs out, sliding the bucket closer by its wheels.

Right as he pulls the door open MJ throws liters of dirty water right at him. The actual bucket follows—and it’s not heavy, by any means, but that water is veritable nasty swamp shit and it gets into his eyes. The guy drops his gun, stunned, to palm at his eyes right as a web latches onto his back, ricocheting him right out the building.

MJ watches the rest of the spectacle, still standing in a pool of dirty water. Spider-man secures the three criminals to a nearby pole and makes a light jog back towards where she’s still standing, a tad stunned by the mess she’s made of the entrance.

He stops a few meters away. Over a car alarm that’s gone off somewhere and the yells of the one robber guy that hasn’t yet had his lights punched out, shouts, “ARE YOU OKAY?”

She supposes she is. MJ nods, still processing what just happened. Spider-man gives her a thumbs up.

“ARE YOU SURE,” he yells.

She nods again.

“OKAY, AWESOME,” Spider-man says, appeased.

Huh.

____

MJ lies in bed that night, home two hours late because the police came and wanted a statement from her. Her mom is definitely making her quit. And she thinks.

The body language kind of carries over, she supposes. Spider-man had stuck around after the police had arrived to answer a few questions. He fidgets. A lot. He’s also kind of short, built like an acrobat.

 _Do you lay eggs_ , Ned had once said.

What a strange non sequitur, she had thought.

Now, it’s _Goddamnit, Ned._

She thinks of all the dumb Buzzfeed listicles they have of Spider-man, which consists of tweets and eyewitness accounts of the vigilante being a generally lovely disaster of a person. The report last week that Spider-man had helped thwart a multi-million drug deal, preventing a ton of laced, impure junk from hitting the streets. How Peter Parker had been putting his all, it seemed, into not passing out where he stood the few days leading up to the bust.

Liz. Homecoming _. Iron Man_.

“Oh my God,” MJ says, to the ceiling.

____

“I’m dropping subtle hints that Peter wants to ask you out,” Ned says. They’re by MJ’s locker, again; it’s the five minutes between first and second period. Peter is still nowhere to be seen, probably still home and dead to the world. 

MJ stares. Ned stares back, challenging. There’s a juice box in his hand, and MJ waits, grabbing a random binder from her locker, for Ned to poke the straw through and take a sip.

When he does, MJ turns back around. Voice low, making sure no one else can hear, she says, “I’m dropping subtle hints I know he’s Spider-man.”

Ned has a coughing fit.

**Author's Note:**

> memories of murder is a bong joon-ho film. i headcanon that mj loves his movies—not only are they just plain _good_ , but they tend to focus on class inequality/social commentary. (see parasite, snowpiercer.) mj loves that shit.
> 
> mj had a crush on liz at some point. You Cannot Change My Mind
> 
> thank you for reading! stay hydrated, take care of yourselves, etc etc. 
> 
> as always, comments are welcome! see you around.


End file.
